


Though They Be Mad

by poetikat



Series: And Death Shall Have No Dominion [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetikat/pseuds/poetikat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck wants a motorcycle.  Lauren wants an electric fence.  Sarah wants a dog.  Margaret wants everyone to take second helpings.  And no one's volunteering to explain why.  Set five days post epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though They Be Mad

“I want a motorcycle,” Puck says over scrambled eggs and tartines at breakfast, cutting off Kurt’s quiet conversation with Margaret about what books in the library have caught their interest.

Santana sets down her coffee cup and reaches across the table for the little jar of apricot preserves. “How fascinating,” she says, slathering a thick layer onto her bread. “Tell us more.”

“I was thinking maybe a Triumph,” Puck says. “Steve McQueen rode a Bonneville. Or maybe one of their roadsters. They’re pretty cool.”

“Why not a Harley?” Dave asks. “American made bikes are gonna be collectibles soon.” And isn’t that a happy thought – going from being citizens of one of the world’s most powerful nations to a world where American made products are just coveted trinkets.

“I want something fast, not something loud,” Puck says. “You know?”

Lauren nods. “Yup.”

“It’s going to have room for two, right?” Sarah asks. “So that you don’t go out by yourself?”

“Are you kidding? If it only seats one you’re just gonna take it for a joyride,” Puck says. “Know why? Because you’re insane.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not ever going to do that, _ever_. But if I did, it would be because I spent my childhood with you as my role model,” Sarah retorts. “My bad habits are your fault.”

“You’re still a child,” Margaret says. She forces a smile and pours more hot chocolate into Sarah’s cup. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Sarah sighs and takes a huge bite of her tartine, mumbling something around the mouthful of baguette and jam.

“Why a motorcycle?” Kurt asks. “Do you honestly plan on exploring the countryside on a motorcycle? Wind in your face, no doors or ceiling around you?”

“Not really,” Puck says. He shrugs. “That’d just be stupid. But I want one.”

“And I want Yves to track down one of those fifteen passenger vans for us,” Kurt says. “Unfortunately, they all seem to have been manufactured in the US, and I doubt there are any on the market. Plus there’s that little problem of our lack of driver’s licenses, and I can’t see myself going out and taking a driving test any time soon.”

“Definitely not happening,” Santana says. “No way, no how.”

Dave agrees completely. Doctor Moreau says that it’s a huge step that he started taking short walks by the river the last couple of days. But getting back on the road? No. Not unless they absolutely have to. The drive from La Rochelle was stressful enough. “Maybe we could get Yves to get whoever makes those kinds of decisions to let us keep it in the garage in case things go completely to shi –”

“Language,” Margaret says. “And have some more eggs.”

“In case things fall apart,” Dave amends. “Like a just in case sort of deal.”

“It’s worth trying,” Kurt says. “But honestly, Puck. Why do you want a motorcycle?”

“Just because,” he says. “They’re pretty cool.”

“They’re freaking awesome,” Lauren says. “And you never know.”

“You never know what?” Santana asks.

Lauren and Puck shrug in unison. Margaret butters another slice of baguette and puts it on Kurt’s plate. “Eat. Please.”

Kurt takes a bite obediently and trades a look with Santana and Dave that’s equal parts curiosity and frustration. It’s been five days and they haven’t spilled a word about what happened to them back in the States. Granted, they haven’t asked Dave, Kurt, or Santana about their experience either. It could be because some of it’s common knowledge, but they all know that the bad parts were glossed over, and the worst parts were skipped entirely. No one asks, and no one volunteers answers.

But they seem to be edging closer to sharing their story, and Dave expects that if Puck and Lauren keep circling closer and closer to being straightforward, then they’ll be hearing about it soon. He hopes so. It’s been harder to read between these lines than the ones the ones that came before they arrived at the millhouse.

**

At lunch, Lauren passes the platter of baked ham and cheese sandwiches that Kurt calls Croque-Monsieurs to Dave and says, “We should make the fence taller.” Sarah, sitting as close to the back door as she can get, nods vigorously, her mouth full of a bite of one of the plain cheese sandwiches Margaret made for her and Puck.

Dave eyes the seven foot tall stone wall surrounding the garden. It feels pretty safe to him. “We could take it up another foot,” he says. “Or do you mean the fence around the front yard and the house?”

“Both,” Lauren says. “And maybe add an electric fence around it.”

“That’d be good,” Puck says. “That’d be really good.”

Kurt sets his sandwich down and wipes a little smear of oil from the corner of his mouth. “I’m entirely in favor of improving security,” he says, “But where did this come from all of a sudden?”

“It’s just something I was thinking might be a good idea,” Lauren says. “Sarah would feel safer.”

That’s true enough. Sarah isn’t agoraphobic, not by a long shot, but without four walls or a big, sturdy fence surrounding her she can’t take a step without freezing up. She hasn’t been able to go down and see the river, or look around at the outbuilding they’ve turned into a guesthouse for their nonexistent guests. It’s nice of Lauren to think of her, and yet –

“Why didn’t you bring it up before?” Dave asks. “We could’ve gotten it done way sooner.”

“I _just_ thought of it, okay?” Lauren says defensively. “Does it even matter? I’m saying it now.”

“Get off her case,” Puck says, and despite the lazy slouch of his back against the well, there’s something sharp and hard in his eyes that says “back off” louder than any words could express. “It’s a good idea.” The poorly veiled aggression and protectiveness goes a long way to explaining why Margaret has never said a word about the two of them sharing the last of the upstairs bedrooms.

It’s not like Lauren needs a protector. She’s even more ferocious than Puck when she needs to be. But there’s a bond there that ties them together as tightly as Dave is tied to Kurt and Santana, and that protective streak runs in both directions.

Santana washes down the last bite of her sandwich with a gulp of milk. “No one’s getting on anyone’s case,” she says. “Is there anything else?”

“An alarm system,” Lauren says. “At the gate and in the house. With some sort of electronic thing at the gate so that no one can get in without knowing the pass code.”

“Yves could make that happen,” Kurt says.

“Yves is magical like that,” Santana adds. “It’s actually kind of scary how superhumanly efficient he is.”

“Where the hell did you find him, anyway?” Puck asks.

“He wandered into our hospital room one day and we decided to keep him,” Kurt says, straight faced. Sarah giggles, and a smile flashes across Kurt’s face at the sound, there and gone in less than a second.

“So it’s a ‘Mom, can we keep him’ kind of thing?” Lauren asks.

“If by ‘Mom’ you mean the French government,” Santana says. “Yeah.”

“What else do you want?” Dave asks. “A panic room?”

“No way,” Lauren says. “That’d just be plain stupid. Motion sensors, on the other hand, would be freaking perfect.”

Dave nods, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and files the conversation away in his mind. A motorcycle and security to rival some very heavily guarded buildings are just two of the many puzzle pieces of their unspoken jigsaw puzzle of what happened to them back there. He’s curious, but he knows better than to pry.

He doesn’t like it when people pry, either.

**  
“Do you think we could get a dog?” Sarah asks at dinner.

“I’m sure we could,” Margaret says as she spoons another helping of ratatouille onto Santana’s plate. “There’s plenty of room for one to run around.”

“Why a dog?” Santana asks. “Why not a cat or something?”

“I like dogs,” Sarah says, and the shrug she gives is identical to her brother’s. “So why not?”

“They’re noisy, they smell, and they’ll poop all over the lawn,” Kurt says. Sarah slumps in her seat, radiating disappointment. He sighs softly and says, “But I’m sure we can find a dog we can all agree upon.”

She beams at him, and again Kurt gives her that quick smile. “You’re the best,” she says.

“I try,” Kurt tells her. Dave knows him well enough to read the confusion in the tilt of his head, the surprise in the minute tightening of his fingers.

Kurt’s honestly baffled that she likes him so much. Dave’s baffled that Kurt thinks he’s not worth her adoration.

“I thought I was the best,” Puck says.

“You’re my brother,” Sarah says with exaggerated patience. “Of course I love you, dummy. You’re the best brother ever. But Kurt’s _cool_.”

“Just promise me you don’t want to be me when you grow up,” Kurt says.

“I want to be me when I grow up,” Sarah says. “But you better not go anywhere when I do, or I’ll change my mind and be the best Kurt point one ever.”

“Sounds fair,” Dave says. “Guess you’d better stick around.”

“And here I was, planning a trip around the world,” Kurt says. “What am I going to do with all those travel brochures?” Sarah laughs, and Kurt’s smile lasts just a bit longer than usual.

That right there is why Sarah adores him, and why Dave loves that she does. Kurt’s much too serious, much too quiet. But somehow Sarah brings out a side of him that Dave thought might have been gone for good. Kurt can withstand an apocalypse, a transatlantic voyage, and becoming an icon across the four remaining populated continents. He can’t withstand the earnest overtures of friendship from a twelve year old girl, and Sarah knows it and exploits it shamelessly.

“What kind of dog are we talking about here?” Dave asks. “Little? Big?”

“It had better be a big dog,” Santana says. “The yappy ones drive me up the wall.”

“Z –” Dave swallows hard. It’s another one of their unspoken rules: they don’t talk about the people they knew before. He continues anyway. “Z always said unless it’s bigger than a football it’s not a real dog, just an overgrown rat that forgot its place on the food chain.”

“I can’t disagree with that,” Santana says, smirking. “Sarah?”

“I want a big dog anyway,” she says. “A really big dog, like a, a Saint Bernard. Or a mastiff.”

“There’s big and then there’s big,” Kurt says. “Are you sure you want a dog that huge?”

“I want one that big, too,” Lauren says. “Besides, the big ones are usually really calm and friendly.”

Kurt looks across the table to Margaret, who’s seated at the other end. “Margaret? What do you think?”

“I think that if we find a breed that is very calm and friendly, then I’d be in favor of a large dog,” she says, and passes the dish of ratatouille to Lauren. “It could be a good addition to the household.”

Santana, elbow planted on the table, props her chin in her hand and looks across at Sarah curiously. “Seriously, kiddo,” she says. “Why a dog?”

“I like dogs,” Sarah says again. “So can we get one?”

Santana turns away from Sarah’s pleading face to silently consult with Dave and Kurt. Kurt raises an eyebrow, Dave shrugs, and Santana nods to Sarah. “Why not?”

Sarah beams, and Margaret puts another length of baguette on her plate. “Awesome!” she exclaims, and makes it halfway out of her chair before her mother takes her hand and pulls her back down.

“Finish your dinner, sweetheart,” Margaret says. “We can look up dog breeds tomorrow.”

Dave notices the satisfied look that Puck and Lauren share and adds it to the last two wishes they’ve voiced. A motorcycle, a security system, and a dog. He’s not sure how it all fits together, but the puzzle will make sense soon enough.

**

It comes to a head in the living room after dinner, when the seven of them are relaxing on the couch and in the armchairs, enjoying the warmth of the crackling fireplace. Santana’s curled up on the middle cushion between Dave and Kurt, her feet tucked under Kurt’s thigh and her head in Dave’s lap. Puck and Lauren have pulled two of the armchairs close together, their legs stretched out in front of them, Puck’s bare foot pulling Lauren’s closer. Sarah is sitting on the carpet and leaning against her mother’s knee, smiling sleepily as Margaret cards her fingers through her dark hair.

“Have another bowl,” Margaret says with a motherly smile, attempting to pass the serving bowl of rice pudding to Kurt.

He shakes his head and waves it off. “I’m full,” he says. “But thank you.”

Her smile slips, and she reaches out with the bowl again. “Eat some more,” she says. “Please.”

“I’ve had plenty,” Kurt says. “But thank you for making it, Margaret. It’s delicious.”

She looks around the living room, holding out the bowl almost plaintively. “Santana? Dave?” They shake their heads as well.

Puck preemptively answers her call for him to take seconds. “We’re fine, Mom,” he says, sounding strangely gentle. “We’ve eaten enough, and there’s enough left that we can have some tomorrow. It’s okay – there are even leftovers.”

“Yes,” she says shakily. She sets the bowl on the floor by Sarah and nods. “There are leftovers.”

Dave won’t ask. He knows how intrusive some questions can be. But Kurt, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on the bowl on the carpet, surprises him by saying, “I can fill in the blanks if I have to, but if any of you want to talk, we’ll listen.”

No one says anything. It feels like all seven of them are holding their breath at once, and the only sound in the living room is the pop and crackle of the wood fire. Then Margaret exhales.

“We never really had enough,” she says. “Not enough to stay healthy, not enough to keep from becoming tired and weak. Never enough to go to bed satisfied. There were days, too many of them, when we didn’t eat anything at all. And watching my children starve – not being able to feed my own flesh and blood – is the worst feeling in the world. I could do my part in keeping us safe, but I could do nothing to fight the emptiness in our stomachs.”

Kurt focuses even harder on the pudding bowl and says slowly, guilt coloring his words, “We had food. When we met outside Lima, we had food. And we could have shared it, but we decided – no, _I_ decided that we needed it for ourselves to stay alive. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I did it without even a second’s thought. I felt so guilty. But I did it anyway. I’m sorry.”

“We figured you did,” Lauren says. She doesn’t sound angry or accusatory. “It pissed me the hell off at first, but the hungrier we got the more we got why you kept it all. If we had to go through it again, and we had the food, we’d probably have done the same.”

“We might not have made it another month, but we got rescued,” Puck says. “And you lived, too. So it worked out.”

Kurt’s as still as a statue, as if he can’t unfreeze until Sarah and Margaret have passed judgment.

“I’ll never forget what it was like,” Margaret says. “But it wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me, Kurt? It was not your fault. You’ve been eighteen for all of a week. I refuse to blame a shell-shocked high school student for looking out for himself and his friends first.”

Sarah sticks her foot out and pokes Kurt in his calf with her toes. “You were hungry, too,” she says practically. “You’re still super skinny. It’s not like you guys were eating much. But if you still feel bad, then you can get me an extra hot chocolate tomorrow.”

“I can do that,” Kurt says, and Sarah pokes him again until he looks at her.

“Make it a big one,” she orders him, smiling.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kurt says, and he gives her a “now you see it, now you don’t” smile that makes her smile even wider.

Puck shifts in his seat restlessly. “The thing about driving on those roads is that there were cars and zombies everywhere. It was good that there was a camper shell on the back of the truck, but four people plus supplies couldn’t fit no matter what we tried. So we picked up a little trailer and a hitch in one of the towns we went through. It gave us some room, but it made driving harder. Too many cars, too many zombies, and we were too slow. You have no idea how many times we had to turn around and try a different road because we couldn’t get through. And what we didn’t even think of until we found that shack was that maybe if we could’ve seen up ahead it wouldn’t have taken us so long. We didn’t think about stealing a motorcycle to scout ahead of the truck until we were already past every goddamn city in southern Ontario to find someplace rural, and we could’ve made it to safety three times faster if we’d had one.”

“Fast but not loud,” Santana says in realization. “That’s what you were talking about.”

“With two seats,” Lauren reminds them. “One for steering, one for shooting.”

“We should definitely ask Yves,” Dave says. “Like you said, you never know.”

“We should be prepared,” Kurt says. “Just in case we’re wrong about it being over.”

“I’d rather have it and be wrong than not have it and be right,” Puck says. “There’s no arguing with it if we’re wrong. And if we’re right, it could still go wrong.”

“Sometimes we did it all right and it still went wrong,” Lauren says.

“How so?” Dave asks.

“One of the first things we did at the shack was take the stakes and chicken wire from the yard and put up a fence,” Lauren says. “We even tied cans to the stakes so that we could hear whatever was coming. But it didn’t always work. We woke up with zombies in the yard more than once.”

“We were caught off guard seven or eight times,” Margaret says. “One time they nearly got Sarah.”

“Noah and Pell-Mell saved me,” Sarah says.

Santana grabs Dave’s arm and pulls it across her shoulder, hugging his hand to her chest. “Who’s Pell-Mell?”

“This big, ugly dog that was hanging around the place,” Puck says. “We think he must’ve belonged to the guy who owned the shack. He looked mean, but he was pretty sweet, and a good guard dog.”

“He was better at warning us than the fence with the soup cans,” Sarah says. “Whenever he smelled a zombie he started barking like crazy.”

“Is that a dog thing or a that dog in specific thing?” Dave asks.

“We only had Pell-Mell,” Margaret says. “Though it’s probably safe to assume that it’s dogs in general.”

Kurt nods. “We’ll get a dog,” he tells Sarah, and looks at Puck and Lauren. “We can work something out about the motorcycle. We can improve the security here. And Margaret –” He falters and comes to a stop.

“Yes?” she says patiently.

“There’s enough food for all of us,” he says. “There was enough today, and there will be enough tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and so on, for as long as we live. We’re not going to go hungry again.”

“Oh, Kurt,” Margaret says kindly, sighing, and she gets out of her armchair to walk over to where Kurt is sitting at the end of the couch. She kneels in front of him and kisses his forehead. “I know there is. I know.”

He stares at her, reaching up to touch the spot she kissed in disbelief. She squeezes his knee with a reassuring smile and stands to retake her seat beside Sarah.

There are four less people for Kurt to blame himself for their misery, their disappearances, or their deaths. There are four less reasons to hate himself when he looks in the mirror. Dave’s not sure Kurt even realizes it yet. Being forgiven is easier than forgiving oneself – Dave knows that feeling all too well from how things were before.

Santana sits up briefly to spin around and put her head on Kurt’s lap and her feet in Dave’s. “So what happened after we split up?” she asks. “What happened between there and when they found you?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Puck says. “And you have to tell us yours after.”

Dave looks out the window at the black sky, dotted with stars. “No problem,” he says. “We have all night.”

“Well,” Lauren begins, “The first place we went was Beaverdam to get a few guns, and Jesus, but there were some ugly-ass zombies there.”

“Language,” Margaret says automatically.

“Big, ugly zombies,” Lauren continues. “And man, were they ever stupid.”

Santana flexes her feet against Dave’s thigh, Kurt rests a hand on Santana’s hip and leans back into the couch, and Dave finishes the last bite of his now-cool rice pudding.

The puzzle makes sense. The pieces are all there. And there’s space in it for the three of them.

He sets his bowl aside and settles in for a long night of talking.


End file.
